


Welcome to my world

by flavialikestodraw, Potix



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Parent!lock, Sherlolly au, sometimes characters from other fandoms make an appearance, victorian!lock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-01-10 22:48:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 18,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1165504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flavialikestodraw/pseuds/flavialikestodraw, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potix/pseuds/Potix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one-shots written because of prompts on Tumblr. Fluffy, funny and romantic. Ratings may vary in the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jenga

**Author's Note:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, please forgive the mistakes and the typos.
> 
> For iheartdramas on Tumblr, who gave me this prompt: "Sherlock and Molly play Jenga and Molly WINS!"

"Just say it, Sherlock"

"I refuse to accept the result"

"You refuse to accept what, Sherlock?"

"..."

"You can't even pronounce the words, can't you? Is it really so annoying, that I-"

"Don't. I told you before, you were obviously cheating. It's impossible for a human being who is unable to ride a bike without falling at the end of the trip, who burned herself while draining the pasta,who dislocated her ring finger while climbing on a kayak, to be able to acquire the physical and mental skills necessary to play Jenga, and to-"

"To beat you. Because that is what has happened. I beat you, and I suggest you to not underestimate my uncanny abilities again, Sherlock,because -umpf !"

"..."

"You've just fallen from the chair, Molly"

"..."

"Care to repeat your speech about your uncanny abilities, Dr. Hooper?"

"I hate you".

"No you don't".

"It's true, I don't hate you, but I don't like you either, right now".

"Incorrect again. Do you need assistance, or do you prefer to remain on the floor ?".

"Remind me why I accepted to marry an insolent, sarcastic, insufferable man".

"Because you love me, obviously. And because I can't imagine my life without my extraordinary pathologist/Jenga champion".

"See?It wasn't so bad, to actually say the words. Jenga champion, I like the sound of it...".

"I hate you".

"..."

"Ok, I don't hate you. But I want to exercise my veto on Jenga. From now, no more Jenga here, at Baker Street. If you can put a veto on Cluedo, I have every right to-".

"Ok, ok! At this rate, you will ban also poker".

"Not if it's strip poker, Mrs Holmes"


	2. Through the fire and flames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Icequeenforlife on tumblr asked for some Sherlolly Smauglock, because "there's just not enough of it". Well,it's definitely Sherlolly. And there's Smaug. So, technically, it's Sherlolly Smauglock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

"And for tonight, I think it's enough. I will read you the rest of the chapter tomorrow"

"Daddy! I want you to read me about Smaug, please!"

"Molly, be patient. You will have your daily dose of "The Hobbit" tomorrow night,but only if-"

"If I will be a good girl, I know. Goodnight,daddy"

"Goodnight, my Molly"

* * *

 _The glow of Smaug! There he lay, a vast red-golden dragon, fast asleep; thrumming came from his jaws and nostrils, and wisps of smoke, but his fires were low in slumber. Beneath him, under all his limbs and his huge coiled tail, and about him on all sides stretching away across the unseen floors, lay countless piles of precious things, gold wrought and unwrought, gems and jewels, and silver red-stained in the ruddy light._ Sherlock paused for a second.

"Don't stop,please"

"Molly, it's the fifth time I read you this part. I'm sure there's another way to help you fight insomnia"

"You agreed to help me, Sherlock. It's not my fault that since I was 5 and I couldn't sleep, my father had read it to me to help me fall asleep"

"Well, you're not a five years old girl anymore - you're a very mature eighteen years old young woman, and I'm not your father. You can read it on your own, Molly Hooper". The curly and lanky teenager tried to leave the sofa, but her hand was quick to grab his wrist.

"Sherlock, please..."

He grumbled, but sat down again."Anyway, why the Smaug part? It's not the main character, and there are many other parts of the book,more interesting than this one"

"I like him"

"It"

"He's a male dragon. And he's sarcastic, and arrogant,and...".Molly stopped herself abruptly.

"And...?"Sherlock prompted, now quite curious about her strange fascination.

"He reminds me of someone, that's all".

"Of whom ?".

"It's not your business, Sherlock".

"Well, I'm here reading this book to you, I think it may be my business".

"I like him, that's all. He's sarcastic...and very intelligent".

"You're repeating yourself, Molly".

"I- I just like when you change your voice to read his dialogues, Sherlock. You make him sound...well, sexy".

He stiffened. "Sexy?".

"Yes, I found your voice...attractive. Especially when you read. Are you happy now?".

"Well, it is...unexpected". Molly was waiting for him to leave her, and a part of her was hoping for it. She had always found Smaug the dragon a wonderful character, and "The hobbit"was like a fairytale for her, when she was a child. But now...Sherlock's deep, baritone voice was doing something to her,she was feeling something new and exciting. They had been friends since she was ten years old;she had met him shortly after his father's death, but now she was starting to look at him under a different light. Trivial things, like his long, bony fingers, his soft curls, the way his eyes bursted with excitement when an experiment went right...they were starting to be...well,captivating. She knew she shouldn't think of him like that: he was his friend, and she was sure he was not interested. Now she had embarassed herself, and probably lost one of her few friend.

 _"Well, thief! I smell you and I feel your air. I hear your breath. Come along! Help yourself again, there is plenty and to spare!"_. His voice woke her up from her sad musings. _"I suppose you got a fair price for that cup last night?î he went on. Come now, did you? Nothing at all! Well, that's just like them. And I suppose they are skulking outside, and your job is to do all the dangerous work and get what you can when I'm not looking-for them? And you will get a fair share? Don't you believe it! If you get off alive, you will be lucky"._

Sherlock's voice lulled her to sleep. It was a pity, because she couldn't see the longing stares that caressed her skin while he was reading to her, and she missed the soft touch of his lips on her forehead, when he kissed her goodnight,before he left to return home. In her dreams, instead, she imagined a clever, intuitive dragon, with the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen, taking care of her and protecting her from evil.

 

**Thanks for reading!**


	3. Through the fire and flames - second take

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a companion piece to the previous chapter, "Through the fire and flames". The second take of the same prompt. Another fluffy Sherlolly Smauglock. Very fluffy, in my opinion. Enjoy!
> 
> Smaug!lock Parent!lock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

"Daddy, don't stop!"

"It's time to go to sleep, Eloise..."

"I'm already in bed, so I don't need to move myself to go to sleep-your statement is uncorrected, daddy"

The sound of muffled laughter, coming from the hallway, arrived to Sherlock's ears. "Alright, I will read a bit more to you, but only for other ten minutes: this is my last offer"

"Ok...thank you, daddy. Now read" the little girl yawned. Just a few sentences later, Eloise was fast asleep. Her father tucked her in, and left her, with a last kiss on her forehead: Molly was still waiting for him, just behind the door.

"Our daughter seems to share with you your bizarre fascination with dragons..."

"At least she has inherited something from me...she's a mini-Sherlock, with your wild curls and penetrating eyes..."

"But she has your nose, and she stops in awe when she sees a feline, like her mother..."

"And she loves when you read "The Hobbit" to her, like I did..."

"What does it mean ? You don't find my dragon voice sexy anymore?" Sherlock teased his wife, and leaned forward, stopping a few centimeters from her mouth.

"Well, we are both scientists, in our own way...I suggest we do an experiment:read a bit of Smaug to me, and then you can test if I'm as excited as in the past"

"Have I ever told you that I like your kinks very much, Dr. Hooper-Holmes?"

"A few times...but enough with the flattering: read to me, my sexy dragon".

 

**Thanks for reading!**

 


	4. Last Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MorbidbyDefault gave me this prompt on Tumblr:"Sherlock has the chance to go back in time and redo that dreadful Christmas party..and boy does he get it right eventually. ;)". I wrote this before series 3,so no Tom here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

 

* * *

_Tell me baby_  
 _Do you recognize me?_  
 _Well_  
 _If it's been a year_  
 _It doesn't surprise me_  
 _"Merry Christmas"_  
 _I wrapped it up and sent it_  
 _With a note saying "I love you"_  
 _I meant it_  
 _Now I know what a fool I've been_  
 _But if you kissed me now_  
 _I know you'd fool me again_

Last Christmas - Wham!

* * *

He returned to London three years after his "death". Moriarty's web dismantled, Moran dead...it was time to come back home. Be reunited with John was like put on your favourite pair of shoes after a long time: it hurt at first (mostly because of a few precise punches), but then it was like he had never made the entire world believe that he was dead. Well, not the entire world: Mycroft knew, and of course his pathologist was aware that the body under the gravestone was not his.

His pathologist, Molly Hooper. After faking his fall from St. Bart's rooftop, he had spent a few weeks hiding in her tiny flat. During that time, he had observed her, and the room devoted to her in his mind palace had grown bigger and bigger, and now, he had to decide what to do with all the stuff he had piled up. Should he evict her? Or should he move her to a bigger room?

Sherlock was pondering on it one night, sitting in his armchair, when his eyes fell on the mantelpiece, and behind his skull, he spotted the Christmas present Molly had given him more than three years before: an old pocket watch, with a bee carved on the backside. Once he had told her that he found bees fascinating, and she had obviously remembered it. His mind went back to that dreadful Christmas party: it was one of the few times when he had truly felt an idiot, because he got it all wrong, and because he had purposely spoken those words to her to hurt her, to make fun of her ridiculous attempt at being sexy and seductive...and a little voice in his head added  _"because you saw how Lestrade looked at her, how even John appreciated her curves, not hidden by his white coat...don't try to deny it: when you brushed your lips against her cheek, you wondered if her skin were so soft elsewhere..."_

Sometimes he wondered how that party would have been without his stupid boasting...and then he had an epiphany: maybe there was a way to discover it.

* * *

When John returned to Baker street after his shift at the clinic, he found his flatmate with his head in a big box full of bric-a-brac.

"What are you doing...wait, don't tell me, I don't want to know. Surely it's better than returning home to find you shooting the wall"

"It deserved it...where did you put the Christmas decoration ?"

"Probably in the box labeled "Christmas decorations"...I think it's in Mrs Hudson's flat,not-"

"Mrs. Hudson!"

"Sherlock, you can't shout like that to the poor woman,she's..."John scolded him, but he could already hear the sound of their landlady on the steps.

"Dear boy,I don't want to be disturbed when I'm drinking my herbal soother!".

"Where did you put the decorations?"

"Decorations?What kind of decorations?"

"For Christmas, Mrs Hudson, please keep up!"

"They're in the spare room I think...".Sherlock rushed downstairs, leaving his best friend and his landlady - not his housekeeper - perplexed.

"Why does he need Christmas decorations? It's only October...". They didn't have time to speculate further because Sherlock reappeared, a large box in his arms.

"Sherlock, would you like to explain to us why are you behaving like-"

"Like what?"the consulting detectives barked, aggressively.

"More bizarre than usual,I would say-why do you need those fake poinsettia, and the glass ornaments for the tree? Is it for a case?".

"No, not a case...".Mrs Hudson was leaving the room when Sherlock's booming voice stopped her."Where's the tree, Mrs Hudson? I need the tree!"he commanded hysterically.

John was now slightly worried."Listen,give me a good reason for your behaviour and-".Sherlock interrupted him."Can you prepare a Christmas pudding, John? And then leave the flat, go and spend the night with whoever your girlfriend is now"

"Her name is Mary, and you told me that you liked her! Wait, did you say Christmas pudding? Sherlock,it's only october, and you hate Christmas! The last Christmas party here was an utter failure, mostly because of your behaviour towards Molly". At the mention of the pathologist's name, John witnessed a rare show: Sherlock Holmes hanging his head in shame.

"Sherlock...is it possible that you are doing all this for Molly?". Later that evening, John Watson swore to his soon-to-be-fiancée that he was sure he had seen the consulting detective actually blushing.

"It's irrelevant. Are you able to cook that damn pudding or not?"

The good doctor sighed, and shook his head. And then, Sherlock shouted again. "Mrs Hudson!"

* * *

Molly Hooper was finishing the paperwork for her last autopsy, when her cellphone beeped. Incoming text...from Sherlock.

"Come to Baker Street as soon as you can-SH"

In the last few months, after Sherlock's return, she had visited him at home quite often, so the request wasn't so strange. He would probably just need another bag full of toes...it always surprised her how many spare toes and fingers there were in the morgue.

"Ok. Give me an hour-MH"

"I've sent you something with a delivery boy-SH".She had just finished to read the text, when a young boy appeared outside the glass doors. "A delivery for Ms. Hooper".

The box was big, but not very heavy. Inside there were a bag from an exclusive boutique in Soho, and a shoe box. She opened first the bag, and what she found took her breath away: a wonderful dark green tunic dress, with gold embellishments around the neckline. In the shoe box, instead, a pair of black Mary Jane, with broad 4'' heels.

She was still inspecting the dress, when a third sms arrived.

"Don't worry, both the dress and the shoes are of the right size. Put them on and take a cab-SH"

"Sherlock, is it for a case?-MH"

It took 5 minutes for Sherlock to answer, and in that time Molly managed to change,and to complain with herself about the lack of make-up in her bag.

"Come to Baker Street. Will explain later-SH". She shrugged: enigmatic as always.

"Leave the hair down-SH"

* * *

It took her 20 minutes to finally arrive. Mrs Hudson opened the door, and gave her warm smile.

"Thank God you're here, darling! He's more insufferable than ever, today! He left his door opened for you, no need to knock, he said..."

The stairs cracked under her weight, making his wait even more stressful. Everything was in place, and he was ready to make amends. Could he? He had already said that he was sorry, but then he had treated Molly like always: keeping her at distance, with disdain for her obvious feelings for him...nonetheless, she had helped him in the most desperate moment of his life, without questions, without letting herself doubt him, his actions, his reputation, for a moment. Could he repay her for her devotion? Because it was now obvious to him, that it was no more a matter of will. He wanted to make amends, he just didn't know if it was too late, if all that he had planned was enough. Enough to make her understand that she truly counted. Molly Hooper was a valid pathologist, a loyal friend,and maybe...maybe she was something more than that.

Sherlock Holmes knew he was not an average man. Nothing about him was conventional, or banal. No flutter in his stomach, no daydreaming about a future with 2 kids, a house in the country and a beehive in the backyard (well, a little daydreaming about the beehive, maybe...), made him aware of his feelings towards his pathologist; anyway, he knew they had changed. He still thought she had the most hideous taste about clothes and music, that her cat was obese and annoying, and someone should make her understand that her jokes were not funny, but only ridiculous. Despite her flaws, she was still the personification of care, of trust, of pure and simple love, and he admired her for it. Sometimes, he even envied her. Maybe, with the right words, he could convince her to teach him how to be a little less abrasive, more affectionate, without these changes clouding his rational mind.

A soft cough distracted him from his musings, followed by a surprised "Oh..." from Molly, and an equally surprised exclamation from Sherlock. Yes, he should definitely choose her clothes from now on.

"Sherlock, this is..."

"Strange? Bizarre? Breathtaking?"

"Yes, but most of all...it's out of season. Is it for a case? Why the Christmas tree? Why the lights, and the decorations...is that Christmas Pudding?"

"Yes, Molly, it's Christmas pudding, and if you would like to take just a few steps back...yes, like that, stop!".

"Here? Why, Sherlock...hmmph...oh, Sherlock..."

He knew it was only October, that maybe he should have explained to her, and taken her out on an ordinary date before kissing her under the misteltoe...but he was not ordinary. He was Sherlock Holmes, and she was his Molly.

**So, here it is... **Thanks for reading.****


	5. A Doctor for the Christmas Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cutepet66 prompted me on Tumblr:"I know there aren't many physical dating services any more (it's all done on the Internet now), but maybe there is one, but it's a front for some crime syndicate, so Sherlock goes to shut them down, but runs into Molly. I know smut will be difficult to establish (with all the action), but I think Molly should at least get felt up, the poor girl".I changed it a bit, and no smut,sorry !

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

* * *

_If it's good enough for you, it's good enough for me_  
 _It's good enough for two, it's what I want to see_

Dodgy - Good Enough

* * *

 

It was all Mary's fault. Why did she follow her best friend's advice? They were mostly moronic, and a prelude to failure. _"You need to get Sherlock out of your head, out of your system-you have to meet new people. Go to the club,or...have you ever tried speed dating?"_. Mary insisted, and now she was in this lounge bar near Liverpool Street, with other nine desperate women like her, anxious to impress and to be impressed. Molly didn't spend too much time and effort into choosing an outfit: a simple dark blue blouse on a pair of black trousers, and her favourite pair of flat shoes; a minimal amount of make-up (eyeliner,blush,transparent lip gloss) and she was ready to face the music.

The host registered her, and gave her a scorecard, a name badge and a pen; she invited Molly and the other women (another doctor, a few secretaries; half of them were divorced, and slightly older; the others were on their thirties like her) to have a drink together, while waiting for the men to arrive.

It took only a non-alcoholic cocktail for them to arrive. Every woman took a seat, while the men would rotate every three minutes when the bell rang.

"After each date participants mark on a scorecard whether they would like to see that person again. At the end of the evening you can stay around to chat to the people they've just met...and at the end of the evening everyone takes their scorecards home with them, and tomorrow you will enter your ticks online, and you will see if you match with anyone! if you don't meet at least one person you'd like to see again your next event is free...but I'm sure tonight everyone will find someone special!" The host's cheerful voice annoyed Molly terribly, but she put on a fake smile and waited for the first man to sit down.

"Hi! I'm Robert...and you are...Milly! Nice to meet you, Milly!I'm an accountant, 33, born in Birmingham, single, obviously -"

"It's Molly"

"Sorry, what?"

"My name. I'm Molly, not Milly"

"Are you sure?"

_"I know that nothing good could come out of this...I will kill Mary...and none will find her. I'm a pathologist, after all, I know a few things about hiding corpses"_

* * *

"What's your job?"

"I'm a pathologist at St. Bartholomew Hospital"

"So...you cut dead people?"

"Well, the live ones put up too much of a fight...". She giggled, but the sudden pallor on her counterpart's face told her that her joke was not appreciated. _"A bit not good, Molly..."_

* * *

"I love go hiking, and listening to soul music, and-"

"May I interrupt you, Paul? There's a nice old lady sitting at the bar, and she's waving at us...do you know her?"

Paul sniggered."Of course I know her...she's Mummy!"

"Your...mum?"

"Yes, I can't go anywhere without her...she wants to be sure that I'm safe. Do you want to know her?"

* * *

The tenth (and thankfully last) man was approaching her table, when Molly heard the sound of a commotion coming from the bar's foyer. A few shouts ("Let me go, you bastard!"-"Catch him before he bolts again!"), and the voice of DI Lestrade reached her ears. "It's all over, no need to panic...we are doing our job". She got up to have a few words with Greg, when she caught sight of a familiar dark blue coat. A shiver ran down her spine. "God please, I'm asking you this one thing...don't let it be him, please..."she muttered, squinting to take a better look. Thankfully, no tall, curly haired consulting detective seemed to be within sight, and she returned calmly to her seat...where the above-mentioned consulting detective was waiting for her.

"What did I say to you, Molly Hooper, a few years ago?"

"Hey chap, I don't know who you are but I'm sure this is not your turn, so if you-" the man,whom she was supposed to speak with, tried to make Sherlock leave, but he surely didn't know whom he was dealing with.

"I'm sure your wife, and your two...no,three mistresses will be delighted to know that you were here, tonight, trying to find another paramour. Do you want for me to continue? I'm sure Molly, and the other women here will be interested in your porn addiction, and erection problems". Sherlock smirked, while the other man stuttered some unintelligible apologies and left the locale in a hurry.

"What are you doing here, Sherlock?" Molly asked, a severe migraine already building up.

"A member of Yakuza was hiding next street, and decided that this bar was a good place to be arrested in...but you evaded my question. Do you remember what I said about you and your obnoxious habit of dating men?"

She remembered it well enough...that sentence was like carved in her mind. She quoted him. "For the sake of law and order I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship, Molly"

"I thought I was speaking clearly, that day"

"Cristallyne"

"So why are you not following my directive, Dr Hooper?"

 _"The nerve of this man..."._ She took a deep breath and counted until five , before speaking. "I'm tired, Sherlock...and I'm sure Lestrade will need you shortly. Good night". Molly extended an hand to take her purse, and made a few steps when a firm grip on her wrist halted her.

"Answer me, Molly"

"No, you answer me!" She tried to wiggle out of his steely grasp, but in vain. "You don't want me to be with you, you don't want me to be with someone else- how miserable do I have to be before you're happy?"

For the first time in her life, she heard Sherlock Holmes stutter. "I- I'm not happy, Molly"

Frustration was pouring out of her. "So why? Why are you here, Sherlock? Why do you waste your time sabotaging my relationships, preventing me from dating, from having a life with a man who loves me for who I am, for what I am?"

"Because I am that man". The statement was so ridiculous, that she snorted, before she burst out laughing. She continued, oblivious to his indignant expression, until she felt a pair of big hands on her cheeks, and soft lips on her open mouth. It took Molly a few seconds before it occurred to her that Sherlock Holmes was trying to make her stop laughing by kissing her. Sherlock was kissing her?! She pushed him away, and in her effort to distance herself from him, she plopped down on one of the small couches behind her.

"What are you doing?!"

"I told you to abstain from dating other men, and you don't understand- 45 seconds ago I proclaimed my interest into pursuing a romantic relationship with you, and you laughed in my face. I thought that kissing you was my last chance to make you comprehend my intentions. Wasn't I obvious enough?"

"I'm sorry...but are you saying that you, Sherlock Holmes, fancies me, Molly Hooper?"

"Do you want an official statement, or do you prefer for me to show you?"

She pretended to think about it, before his mouth was on hers again. It appeared that something good enough could come out of this, after all.

 

**Thanks for reading !**


	6. Alive and kicking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Sammykatz : "Someone is threatening to harm children in the hospital's daycare. Molly is defending the children. Actually standing between the mad man with the weapon and the children. Sherlock can do nothing but watch. Molly saves the day by herself."

* * *

 

One of the things that Sherlock Holmes hated most ( more than incompetent idiots at a crime scene, more than his brother's constant meddling into his life, even more than the lack of interesting cases during festive season) was passivity. Do you want to know what was even worse? Forced passivity.

Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do to change his condition; nothing but watching Molly Hooper trying to negotiate with an insane kidnapper.

* * *

It had been all his fault, he knew it. He had been the one that had asked the pathologist to do him a favor, and pick their god-daughter, from St. Bart's crèche, because he was too busy trying to wrap up a case for Lestrade. John and Mary were both on a conference trip, and Sherlock had assured them that he could babysit baby Watson for three days...with the obvious assistance by the godmother, and also his girlfriend, Molly. And now, it was only the second day, Molly and Olivia were trapped in a highly dangerous situation, and he could only watch the scene through the closed-circuit webcam.

The consulting detective had already deduced everything he could about the criminal: 45 years old, a problem of alcoholism that added up to the early stages of the Parkinson he was starting to show, only worsened the nervous shaking of his left hand, the one that was holding the gun. His wife had taken his only child away from him (with good reasons, because the state of his knuckles told him a story of abuses towards both of them) and now the bastard wanted to take his revenge against the poor teacher who has testified against him. The only obstacle to his plan, was a tiny, defenceless pathologist.  _His_  pathologist.

Sherlock observed Molly assume a defense posture: her shoulders hunched forwards, her eyes fixed on the carpet...he watched her lips moving, but unfortunately there was no audio, so he could only presume she was speaking to him, probably trying to convince him to let the children go. His deduction was correct, because a good ten minutes later the man opened the door and let the toddlers (included Olivia) free, leaving only Molly and the teacher as his hostages.

What had happened next, left Sherlock breathless - and he had witnessed a lot of things, in his career. The last of the children was barely out of the room, when Molly, with a feline jump, reached the kidnapper and punched him on his left elbow, while with her other hand she grabbed the attacker's arm and raised it, pushing with all her force on his wrist, until the weapon dropped. In a flash, she gained control of the gun (Sherlock could see now that the safety was on), and kicked the criminal first on his groin, and then using the handle of the gun, she hit him hard in the side of his head, making him even more disoriented.

The policemen and a few paramedics went into the room before a still flabbergasted Sherlock, who was carrying a sniffing Olivia in his arms. Molly gave promptly the gun to one of the officers, before rushing into his boyfriend's arms.

"Shhh, honey, be quite, everything is fine now, don't cry..." she started to console the little Watson, and then she murmured "Sherlock, close your mouth, please. It's a bit rude, you know ?".

"But...you...and then...how?" the usually fluent consulting detective stammered, and Molly smirked, pleased by his confusion.

"Well. it was supposed to be your birthday present, but...anyway, Mary taught me a bit of self-defense. I didn't want you to worry about me, being here all alone and defenseless when you are away with john, solving crimes and saving lives...plus, I enjoy all this punching, and kicking...it's invigorating!" she finished with a big smile.

"Oh, Molly Hooper...you keep surprising me..." Sherlock whispered in her ear, before dropping a lingering kiss just below it, where he knew she liked it best. She shivered, and quickly replied "Well, Mr. Holmes, I intend to keep doing it for a long time...".

 

**Thanks for reading.**


	7. A cat proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt sent by Mayacakaya on Tumblr: "Sherlock bouncing off ideas at Toby. Molly first thought it was for a case. Then she realized he's proposing to her".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

Molly was quite used to the sight of Sherlock Holmes barging unannounced in her flat at the strangest hours of the day and the night. He had done it countless times before, when her flat was just another one of his bolt-holes; and now that they were in a relationship, he usually spent all of his free time between a case and another with her at what he had learnt to call "his other home away from Baker Street".

The fact that he had started to cherish her cat, Toby, had been a pleasant surprise; and thankfully, her pet reciprocated the feelings. Being a cat, Toby didn't pester Sherlock too much, and the consulting detective saw in the feline the potential to be a valiant substitute of John, when the former army doctor was too busy with his family or his job.

"Since I can't always bring Billy the skull with me, Toby is the only one who can help me with my deductions...when you're not at home" he had added precipitately at her annoyed look. Molly had made him promise that he wouldn't even think to experiment on her cat, and so it was not weird anymore for her to come back home and find Toby on top of Sherlock's chest while her consulting detective was bouncing off ideas at him. The cat's only contributions seemed to be a well placed "Meow" once in a while, but Sherlock was satisfied, and Molly knew that a satisfied Sherlock meant a not bored Sherlock, so she was happy with the arrangement. Until a week ago.

In fact, Sherlock and Toby usually had their "speculative sessions" in the living room, or in the kitchen (depending which one was free at the moment of need). Until last monday, when Sherlock had started to take the cat with him in the bedroom, lock up the door and remain there for at least two hours, in relative calm.

At first, the pathologist was merely amused by his behaviour; after three days, and after a in-depth examination of the animal, which seemed to be healthy and safe as usual, she became intrigued; at Sunday, she started to worry.

That's why, after she saw Sherlock, a purse in his hands, grabbing Toby and closing the bedroom's door behind them, she bolted to the same door and started eavesdropping, without any shame. After all, it was her home, her bedroom, and most important, she was doing it for her mental and emotional health, seen as the curiosity and the apprehension were eating her alive.

She could only catch a few sentences, who sounded completely nonsensical to her.

"What do you think? Is it to your liking?".

"Meow...".

"Red, or white? No, yellow...or purple? Of course, you're right...purple!"

"No, you're supposed to take a seat, not to wander all over the bed...and don't eat them, I need to use them later! Oh well, since you're so certain about that, eat them all...but don't come to me when you're going to need a stomach pumping!".

Oh no. He was breaking the promise...no experiment on Toby. "Well, desperate times call for desperate measures". With a speed that would have made Sherlock proud, Molly took a hairpin from the messy bun on the top of her head, and picked the lock.

The scene before her eyes was so bizarre, that her first reaction was to pinch herself, sure that she was still sleeping and what she was seeing was a strange dream induced by a massive hangover. Then, Molly covered her eyes, and burst out laughing hysterically. After all, it was rare seeing Sherlock Holmes, kneeling on purple rose petals, in front of her cat, offering him a fried onion ring.

"Oh my God...why-why are you proposing to Toby, Sherlock?" she managed to say between her chuckles.

The consulting detective blushed, and muttered something unintelligible.

"Sorry, what?" she asked again, trying to calm herself.

"I said I was practicing! I was practicing my marriage proposal to you, and this is all John Watson's and Grayson Lestrade's fault!"It has to be perfect", they said! "You have to plan everything, every single detail ! Practice, practice, practice, Sherlock!" Well, that's what happens when you listen to a man who was previously known as "Three-continents-John Watson" and to a DI who choose a serial cheater as his wife!".

"Wait a minute... do you want to marry...me?"

"Of course, Molly! What, did you really believe that I was interested into pursuing a stable relationship with your cat ? No offence,Toby, but your cat is not really my type".

Molly started to laugh again, but the vulnerable look in Sherlock's eyes made her stop.

"Well, since you have practiced so much...do you want to..you know...do it?"

"Without a proper ring? With your cat who has already eaten five rose petals? I don't even have a speech yet...It's not perfect".

Molly rolled her eyes. "Who cares about the ring, the romantic set-up, the speech...?". She approached him, and hugged him, whispering "I don't care about all those stupid things. Perfection, is when I'm with you".

"Are you sure?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, absolutely" she assured him.

"Well, then...Would you marry me, Molly Hooper?".

" I don't know...I think that Toby might be a bit jealous...but I think he will come to terms with that, sooner or later...".

"Molly!" he complained, exasperated.

"Yes, Mr Holmes...I will marry you".

* * *

 

**Thanks for reading...and be kind, let me know what you think!**


	8. A series of unfortunate proposals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlolly 29 gave me this prompt on Tumblr:"Would you please write a fic where Sherlock is trying to propose to Molly but was kept on being interrupted, he got so pissed he decided to kidnap her instead…scaring Molly to the core just to propose to her. Please let Mycroft be part of the kidnapping plan!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

In his defence, it was all  _their_  fault. And by saying that, Sherlock Holmes meant to blame that bunch of people he had learned to call his "friends". By the end of this story, you will surely agree with him.

**Evidence n°1:** **Greg Lestrade.**

Despite the universal believing that Sherlock Holmes didn't own a heart, he was in love with Molly Hooper. He loved her. He shared a flat and a bed with her, and he was sure that it was a rather permanent arrangement. Unfortunately, some people thought that it was not enough, and that they should make it "official". Meaning theys should spend an awful lot of money, and waste a lot of time too, to plan a day that would not change their relationship at all.

"She knows that I love her, and I know that she loves me. Who cares about what the others think?" he had explained to John, after even his best friend had suggested to him to propose to Molly. The problem was that some people seemed to have lost the memo about Molly Hooper being his, and had tried to steal her away from him. Sometimes more subtly, sometimes shamelessly, and every time Sherlock's patience grew thinner, until he resolved to capitulate, and to do the unthinkable: propose to Molly.

That's why Sherlock was fluttering around Molly in the lab, faking a high-profile case just to find the right moment to surprise her with his proposal. The lab was the perfect place: it was where he had kissed her for the first time, and where they had been intimate for the first time ("morbid, but magic..." in Molly's words). The speech was ready, the ring in his pocket...

"Molly, it's been a few years since-".

"Sherlock, there you are! I sent you a thousand texts, we need your help with this robbery-".

"And I ignored them, every single one of them. I'm busy, Graham..." Sherlock stressed the last words, hoping the grey-haired DI would catch the hint and leave them alone.

"No, you are not" Lestrade retorted. "You're just spending time with your girlfriend here...".

"No, Greg, we are just waiting for the results about that soil you found at the crime scene yesterday" Molly interjected, defending his boyfriend.

"Crime scene? Yesterday? There wasn't any crime scene yesterday, I spent all my day at Old Bailey...are you working with someone else at the Yard now?".

"But...he said..." Sherlock interrupted her question with a quick kiss. "Let's go George, show me this inexplicable mystery that you and your mionions can't solve..." he urged the DI outside. "Mood ruined" he muttered, leaving a confused pathologist behind them.

**Evidence n°2: The Watsons.**

Sherlock tought that Baker Street would be a more shielded location. He cleaned the fridge, replaced his experiments with a bottle of champagne, and nicked two stem glasses from Mrs Hudson, but not before dissolving a mild sleeping pill in her tea.

He was enjoying a heated session of snogging with his pathologist, when he decided it was the right moment. He left the sofa, took the glasses and poured the champagne; then he offered Molly a glass, and proceeded to kneel, when the door slammed, and that little tornado that was little Wilhelmina Watson barged into the room, followed by her breathless parents.

It all happened in a second: Willie tackling Molly's legs, the pathologist losing her balance and letting the glass fall, Sherlock's knees touching the floor the exact moment it was covered by little crystals...and what was even more absurd, was the fact that he had to be the one to comfort poor Willie, while Molly and John were extracting the slivers from his flesh!

**Evidence n°3 : His parents.**

"Finally alone!" Sherlock exclaimed, lying down on the grass, with Molly's pliant body hugged to his. They were a few miles away from his parents' cottage, and he had been very careful at choosing a little-used path, and at leaving both their smartphone in their room. The consulting detective fondled the ring box in his suit pocket, and took a deep breath.

"Molly, you are the most competent pathologist I've ever had the pleasure to work with. You are also the sweetest, more considerate, and caring human being I've ever met, the most attentive and receptive lover, and your endless patience and affection don't cease to amaze me. I know I'm an utter arse most of time, and that you surely deserve a better man to spend your life with. Said that, I hope you will...".

"Oh my god, is that your father?" Molly exclaimed, pointing a hunched figure appearing on the horizon, climbing the hill.

"I think he might be..." he answered, rising to his feet and offering Molly his hand to help her stand up. They ran towards the older man, who was waving at them frantically.

"Your-your mother!" he managed to breathe out, nearly passing away from the effort.

"What about her?" Sherlock urged him quite rudely, and that earned him a scolding glare from Molly.

"She fell, and broke her wrist. She is suffering so much, and I wouldn't have disturbed you, but you left the phones at home, and we need to take her at the hospital!". The old man was positively panicking, and even Sherlock's cold heart tightened up.

"Well, let's not waste time...I'm sure Molly here remembers a few things about bones, don't you, Dr. Hooper?"

* * *

It was clear to him that they were all conspiring against him. Sherlock Holmes knew he had only one last hope. "Desperate times call for desperate measures" he sighed, and took her phone.

"I will do everything you want...just help me. Please".

* * *

Molly was leaving the morgue after finishing the graveyard shift, when someone put his arms around her from behind, and pressed a slightly wet fabric against her nose and mouth. Her last coherent thought was "Chloroform..." before collapsing into the arms of the masked man.

The next thing she knew, she was tied to a chair, in a dark and smelly garage. Her kidnapper had gagged and blindfolded her, but he had forgot to cover her ears, so she heard the approaching steps, and without hesitation, she managed to bang the back of her head against his forehead.

The loud cry of pain seemed quite familiar, and after a few seconds Molly felt rushing fingers against her hair, unfastening the gag and the band covering her eyes.

"Whoever you are, you won't have anything from me! My friends will find you, and then you will curse the day you decided to make such a foolish move!".

"No need to threaten me, Miss Hooper..." Mycroft Holmes' smooth voice reprimanded her, before being corrected by another familiar, deep voice.

"It's Dr. Hooper, Mycroft...how many times do I have to repeat it?".

"Would someone tell me what are you doing, you two blithering idiots?! And untie me, now!" Molly shouted, and Sherlock hurried to help her. His reward were two smacking slaps, and at Mycroft's snickering, the British Government gained a kick to his left shin.

"And now, would you please explain what possessed you to do all this?" she shouted, and Mycroft decided it was safer to leave his brother and the violent pathologist alone...just to give them their space, not because he was terrified by her possible reaction...absolutely not.

And so Sherlock Holmes explained to her how, every time he had tried to propose to her, someone had managed to sabotage his attempts, and how, in his frustration, he had planned to take her hostage to spend a few moment alone, without interference, to just ask her...

"Molly Hooper, will you do me the honor to be my wife?"

"Of course I will, you foolish man..." and the rest of her answer was swallowed by his relieved kiss.

**Thanks for reading. Leave a comment, you will receive good influence and beautiful dreams.**


	9. Eye-glasses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon on Tumblr sent to Sherlollymouse this prompt: " Sherlock wearing glasses around Molly". She didn't have time to write it, so I adopted it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

"Uhm...Sherlock?". John Watson's hesitant voice stopped the consulting detective as he was to open the morgue's doors.

"Yes?".

"I was just wondering...". The former army-doctor gestured awkwardly towards Sherlock, mimicking something.

"John, stop moving your hand and just talk. I don't have much time, and I need to collect a swollen liver from Molly". His tone was impatient and annoyed, and John decided that it was better to not aggravate his mercurial mood.

"The glasses, Sherlock. You just put on some eyeglasses".

"Yes, and?" was Sherlock's disgruntled reply.

"Well...you don't wear glasses, mate".

The consulting detective welcomed his best friend's statement with a large smile and an encouraging pat on his shoulder. "Well done, John! I see your observation's skills are improving, finally!".

"Oh, sarcasm...how refreshing it is to hear an acerbic reply from you! Seriously, Sherlock...why are wearing glasses? They make you look..."

"Yes?". This time Sherlock's voice seemed to have a genuinely eager tone.

"...Strange. A bit...I don't want to offend you...". John paused, searching the most polite way to describe his opinion.

"John...May I remember you that I could be experimenting on a very interesting liver right now, instead of waiting for you to search your vocabulary?".

John lost his patience, finally. "Nerdy! You look like a geek, ok? i don't know if it is because of the big, black frames, but you look...nerdy".

Sherlock pondered for a few seconds. "And is it bad?".

Now it was John's turn to be intrigued. "What do you mean?".

"Nothing". Sherlock dismissed the conversation, and entered the morgue. Molly Hooper was trying to take off her latex gloves, and welcomed them with a quick " Hello John. Sherlock. I will come back with your liver shortly", before retreating to the restroom.

John took a seat, and watched as Sherlock remained frozen on the spot, before adjusting the glasses on his nose. He didn't speak a word, until Molly came back with the specimen Sherlock was so adamant to experiment on.

"Oh, Molly, thank you very much...". Sherlock added a charming smile for good measure, and positioned the spectacles on the tip of his nose. Molly eyed him for a second, then shrugged. "It's not a problem. Now I have to perform some analysis, so if you have to go...".

Sherlock tried (poorly, in John's opinion) to disguise his disappointment. "No, we don't...do we, John?". The doctor shook his head in denial, and Sherlock resumed. "I think I've left some specimens here, that I need to test...for that case that Lestrade devolved upon us five days ago...".

"The one you solved yesterday? I remember you telling me that it was barely a three, when Mary and I met you two outside the hospital...". Finally Sherlock's antics made sense, for John. He remembered catching snippets of his wife and Molly's conversations, about some actor wearing glasses, and looking even more dashing and handsome than the his usual charming self.

He caught Sherlock babble some other excuse to Molly, and noticed what the consulting detective was strangely missing to notice: namely, the mischievous sparkle in the pathologist's eyes. He was hesitant to step-in: after all, Sherlock deserved a bit of torture from Dr. Hooper.

John watched his friend following Molly to the lab like a lost puppy with a secret satisfaction: every time Sherlock tried to draw her attention to his glasses, she blatantly refused to give him some satisfaction.

"Molly, do you have something to clean the lenses?".

"Yes, in my bag...what time do you think you're going to leave, by the way?".

"Hmmm, well... I don't know...in a hour, why?".

"I'm in hurry, nothing else".

It was when Sherlock, completely dejected, tried to use the microscope with the glasses still on, that Molly finally took pity on him, in a manner of speaking.

"Sherlock..." she caught his attention, while she was searching for something in her purse.

"Yes?".

"Do you think I should change the frame of my eyeglasses?" she innocently asked, modeling her old and huge spectacles. Both John and Molly watched Sherlock's Adam's apple bob up and down, while his voice grew rough. "No...they're fine. More than fine, actually".

"Thank you...yours are not bad, too" she answered, winking at him.

"Molly...what about coffee? And then dinner, maybe?" Sherlock proposed, and John discreetly decided to leave them alone. Not before he heard Molly answering "Ok...but first, take off the glasses. I think you're sexy enough without them...".

**Thanks for reading. Leave a comment, you will receive good influence and beautiful dreams.**


	10. Something to sing about

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

**_Life's a show,_ **   
**_And we all play our parts,_ **   
**_And when the music starts,_ **   
**_We open up our hearts._ **

**_Its alright if something's come out wrong,_ **   
_**We'll sing a happy song,** _   
_**And you can sing along.** _

_**"Something to sing about"** _

**from the **Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode** "Once more, with feeling"**

* * *

 

Spending time in Molly Hooper's flat, using her bedroom as his secret bolthole, had surely some advantages. It was moderately quiet, and thankfully Molly loved to keep her rooms as tidy as her lab.

Moreover, it gave Sherlock the opportunity to discover the pathologist most secret habits, and obsessions. Some were almost trivial, like her collection of nail polish, meticulously sorted by the colors of the rainbow in a shelf in her bathroom; or annoying, like her consuetude to read the last words in a book before starting to read it.

Some were extremely frustrating...and strangely he couldn't erase them, no matter how hard he had tried. Like her quiet snoring, when she was forced to sleep on her sofa, because they had agreed he needed more space. It was completely different from John's powerful snorts: her soft puff of breath had the power to lull him to sleep, even when he was forcing himself to fight tiredness in order to solve a case.

The most aggravating of them all, was her habit to sing while she was washing dishes. It was to distract herself from the tedious chore, he was sure of it; and her voice was often off-key, her rendition banal and her repertory was frankly...abhorrent. Somehow, Sherlock found himself fascinated by her cheerfulness...and by her swaying hips.

And between a Gershwin classic and a Britpop hit, he couldn't help but imagine a time when he would be reckless enough to startle his pathologist by hugging her from behind, and then, with his chin on her shoulder, to join her in her carefree singing, enjoying the melody their voices could create.

**Thanks for reading. Leave a comment, you will receive good influence and beautiful dreams.**


	11. A trip to Dartmoor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

She should have known better, than to accept Sherlock's invitation to tag along and go with him to Dartmoor, in order to infiltrate the Baskerville's laboratory once again.

"You're a scientist, Molly...don't tell me you aren't curious..." he had whispered, and Molly surrendered to his suave voice and the promise of disclosed secrets. "Don't worry, John's story about the Baskerville's hound was completely exaggerated", he had reassured her.

"What a smooth, bloody liar he is...", she thought just the following night, while overtaking a misty room in the compound, in their hasty escape after being discovered.

The next morning, she had started to feel dizzy, and nauseous. Molly tried to call Sherlock three times, in vain, before deciding to hasten her revengeful plans and confront him at his home.

She used the key Mrs Hudson had given her for the emergencies, and she was just a few steps away from his door, when suddenly everything went black, and she found herself covered by her now enormous parka, barking help desperately.

* * *

A few hours later, returning from a quick visit to her new beau, Mrs Hudson found the cutest pair of bulldog puppies she had ever seen, snuggling together on the sofa in Sherlock's living room.

She had just the time to marvel why the sweet dogs were there (and to be moved by how protective the bigger, black dog seemed to be of the smaller, light brown one in his paws), when Mycroft Holmes, the British government himself dashed into the room and took the two puppies in his arms. He explained to the landlady that Sherlock had to take care of a very important situation, and that he would be back in a few days.

And as a matter of fact, Sherlock was back two days later, followed by a furious pathologist. The old lady didn't mean to spy on them, but when, after an hour of angry shouts from Molly, the silence fell on Baker Street, she feared the usually calm and lovely pathologist had found a way to hush up her lodger permanently. She tiptoed stealthily, until she reached the quiet flat, and its occupants, who were snogging heartily, oblivious to her presence.

"An effective way to hush a man, indeed...", she whispered, before leaving them to their private moment.

**Thanks for reading...and be kind, let me know what you think!**


	12. Driving lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miz-Joely on Tumblr gave me this prompt: "Molly doesn't know how to drive, and Sherlock offers to teach her…but only after John offers first". I changed it a little bit, hope you like it anyway!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

At St. Bart's, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were occupied with an experiment (well, Sherlock was busy with his experiment and John with his newspaper), when they heard a frustrated cry coming from Molly Hooper's office. A few minutes later, both of them raised their heads when the specialist registrar joined them in the lab, shaking her head and muttering something unintelligible but vaguely invective.

"Anything wrong, Molly?" John asked, genuinely worried. He felt in debt with the petite pathologist, for all she had sacrificed just to help Sherlock and, consequently, to protect Lestrade's, Mrs Hudson's and his life.

"Oh, nothing...just Meena being her usual, unreliable herself...I asked her to help me with my driver's licence, she accepted to be my front-seat companion, and then today she let me down! ". Molly finished with a sigh. "I know I'm not Lewis Hamilton, or Damon Hill, but she sounded like she was so scared to be my passenger...".

John saw in the corner of his eyes Sherlock casting a glance over them, and said "Well, Molly, you're a lucky girl...I have a few hours to spare, and I will be glad to help you training your driving skills!".

Before Molly had the time to thank him, Sherlock interfered.

"You can't, John".

"Oh, and why not, please? And don't tell me that you need me here for your experiment, because we both know the real reason we are here...".  _To help you muster the tiny bit of courage an adult consulting-detective need to confess his pathologist that he fancies her, and wants to spend some quality time with her..._ was the implied message that John was sure his former flat mate was receiving.

"Because...if Molly's driving skills are really as lacking as Meena's behaviour makes us intend, you can't risk your life like that! You're a married man, with a newborn child...you should stop risking your life like that, you reckless idiot!". Sherlock finished with a shout.

"I think you're right, Sherlock..." John agreed. "Molly, I'm sorry...wait, I know what you can do! Ask Lestrade, he's taken a safe driving course last year, I think...".

"No!". Sherlock's voice disagreed once again. "Not Lestrade!".

This time it was Molly the one asking for an explanation. "Why? because I would surely kill your D.I, wouldn't I?".

"Probably".

"Well then, who? Mike?".

"Stamford? He drives like an old lady".

"Mrs Hudson?".

"She's an old lady. Plus, her licence is suspended. Driving while intoxicated. She should really go easy with that sherry".

"Well, it seems I have only one last choice..." Molly's tone was tired, while she perused her contact list on her smartphone. The consulting detective was ready to leave his microscope when the question reached his ears. "Do you think your brother will be free this afternoon, Sherlock?".

For the second time in his life, John Watson witnessed the rare sight of an incredulous, blocked Sherlock Holmes. Taking advantage of his blocked status, John approached a smirking Molly.

"I think you broke Sherlock, Molly. Please, have mercy upon him. He's really trying...but you know, for being a genius, he can act like an idiot most of the time".

Molly let out a sigh. "Alright...Sherlock, would you like to help me with my driving lessons?".

Miraculously, her question seemed to unblock Sherlock. "Well, since I'm the only one who already defeated death, I will risk my life again. But only because I'm a very considerate friend". With that, he took his coat and started to walk towards the door. "And Molly...".

"Yes, Sherlock?" the pathologist replied.

"What about some coffee?" he muttered, a blush appearing upon his cheekbones.

"Oh...let me go to the canteen. The same, right? Black, two sugar?".

"Yes...no, I mean...Maybe we can go to the coffee-shop around the corner. Just to revise the theory of driving, of course. To be sure you remember the difference between the brake and the gas pedal".

Molly turned towards John. "He's trying...be patient..." John mouthed, after checking that Sherlock couldn't see him.

Molly winked at him, and then joined Sherlock near the door. "Of course, Sherlock...the brake is the one on the right, or on the left? I always forget...".

**Thanks for reading. Leave a comment, you will receive good influence and beautiful dreams.**


	13. Looking for a mate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SammyKatz gave me this prompt:"Sherlock sees Molly with the Doctor. Sherlock is jealous. Ps, she knows who the Doctor is, she's traveled with him".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

The bath mat cushioned the impact of his leap through the bathroom's window. Picking the lock of her front door would have been more logical, and less complicated, but sneaking into Molly's flat thorough her windows had become a necessary habit during her engagement with Meat-Dagger, in order to avoid any public display of affection between his pathologist and the dull accountant. Now the engagement was over, but Sherlock Holmes couldn't stop to enter her flat without her knowing, moving stealthily through her kitchen, her messy living room, before stopping just outside the bedroom's threshold.

Through the half-closed door he could see Molly's silhouettes under the covers, the quiet inhaling and exhaling signaling that she was sound asleep. The light from a lamppost outside caressed her face, so serene and peaceful; the consulting detective couldn't help himself but wonder about her dreams. Would they be adventurous, or full of passion? Would he be in them?

"You know, someone would call you romantic...or maybe creepy would be the right choice of words, what do you think?" a voice, coming from the dark behind him, asked.

Sherlock turned swiftly, placing himself between the mysterious visitor and Molly's bedroom. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, and noticed that she was still asleep.

"She's a heavy sleeper, isn't she? Not even an explosion could wake our Molls up..." the voice continued, amused. Sherlock squinted in the darkness, to locate the intruder, and suddenly a green light appeared, turning on the light in the narrow hallway. An awkwardly tall and thin man, with a lock of brown hair falling in front of his eyes, and a stupid fez on top of his head, came into sight, sporting a huge smile.

"All that squinting, so bad for wrinkles..." he explained, while Sherlock Holmes approached him slowly. The stranger took his right hand and shook it vigorously, catching the consulting detective off-guard. "I'm so glad to finally meet you! Molly always talks about you..."Sherlock did this, Sherlock says that"...".

"You know Molly Hooper? How? And more importantly, who the hell are you?". Sherlock started to inch dangerously near the intruder, preparing himself to attack. The stranger jumped back, and giggled.

"How silly I am...I know almost everything about you, and you don't even know my name! Here, let's do it properly..." he said, taking Sherlock's hand in both of his. "I'm the Doctor...and Molly is my mate".

 _Mate_...The word sounded so wrong, spoken by that strange man. Molly Hooper couldn't be anyone's mate, but his.

"Did I say mate? No, I wanted to say...how do you say it? Partner? Yes, she's my partner! A very helpful partner, maybe one of the best-". Sherlock's fist collided with the Doctor's jaw, making the fez fall down on the carpet. Holmes made sure to step on the ridiculous hat, before taking the silly man by his collar and lifting him off the ground.

Thankfully for the Doctor, Molly finally was awoken by their brawl, and ran to his aid. "Sherlock, stop! He's a friend of mine, don't hurt him, please!". Sherlock let him fall on the sofa, and without a word made his way towards the door, his lips tight and his gaze full of anger.

"Oh no, don't you dare! You won't run away until you explain why you were here, at 3 a.m. in the morning, uninvited!". Molly's voice blocked him, and he turned, a tight-lipped smile adorning his mouth.

"I beg your pardon, Dr. Hooper...I didn't know you were  _busy_...". He sputtered the last word like it were venom.

"Busy? I was sleeping blissfully, before you two morons started to beat each other down! And don't think I'm forgetting about you..." she pointed at the Doctor."Why didn't you tell me that you were dropping by? You know I have a life, you could not just pop up like that!".

"I just thought you wanted to visit Kandalath with me..." he muttered, sounding a bit hurt.

"Oh, Doctor...". Molly took a step, and the strange man was quick to engulf her in a hug.

Sherlock felt the space where his supposed non-existent heart was, becoming smaller and heavier, at the sight of another man taking his pathologist in his arms. His hand was already on the knob of her front door when he felt Molly's petite hand stop him.

"Sherlock, let me explain...".

He dismissed her words with a snort."You were right, I'm the one uninvited...I leave you with your  _partner_ ".

The Doctor saw Molly's eyes open in recognition."oh my God, you're jealous! You think I'm...that we...oh for God's sake, for being a genius you can be so dense sometimes!". And when her lips landed on Sherlock's mouth, which quickly reciprocated the kiss with equal fervor, the Doctor couldn't help but smirk and congratulate himself for his brilliant plan.

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	14. Just the way you look tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon on Tumblr gave me this prompt: "Moriarty steals a new war chemical from Area 51, and drugs Sherlock with it, turning him into a Dragon. When Molly, Mary and John arrive at 221b (called there by Mrs. Hudson because Sherlock's making so much noise) they find Sherlock in his new dragon form, much to their shock. In this dragon state, Sherlock is also very affectionate, seeking Molly out when she's not in his immediate area, and curling around her and purring when he finds her".
> 
> I changed Area 51 with Dartmoor, simply because it's nearer...and a few other things,because I wanted to play with an insecure Sherlock...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

When he arrived at the Baskerville labs, to confront Moriarty again, and hopefully for the last time, Sherlock Holmes was many things: frantic, excited, anxious. In one word: human. When he came back to London, he was a different being.

* * *

"John...Oh, thank God you're here! He's lost his mind this time...He doesn't want to see anyone, he doesn't let me bring him his tea, or tidy up the flat! I'm not his housekeeper, but...And the noise! It seems that he's throwing rocks on the floor! You have to speak to him, and make him reasonable again!". Mrs Hudson's tone was frenzied, and she was so nervous that she noticed Mary Watson and Molly Hooper only later.

The two women tried to comfort the poor landlady, while John walked up to Sherlock's flat. As Mrs Hudson said, loud cracks could be heard, and then Sherlock's voice shouting at John "Don't open the door! Go away, make everyone leave!".

After a few forceful shoves, the door hinges broke down, and John finally entered the flat. It was a mess. The desk, the bookshelves, the armchairs were overturned and pressed-up against the windows, preventing the light to come in. The doctor started to get close to kitchen, when in the darkness a pair of red eyes appeared, and a grave voice, (Sherlock's voice, it was sure it was his, only much deeper) said "Please...don't get close. Leave me alone, John...I'm begging you".

"I want to help you, mate...whatever it is, I can help you, Sherlock...". John's tentative voice was nearer than before, Sherlock could sense it; his cautious steps halted when he was just a meter away. His nostrils vibrated, and his hot breath reached the doctor.

"I warned you, John...". Suddenly a flame appeared, setting a chair on fire. There, in the light of the blaze, a dragon appeared before John Watson's eyes.

* * *

Downstairs, Molly Hooper was jittery. The commotion, and the strange silence that followed, were unnerving her. "I'm going upstairs" she announced at Mary and Mrs Hudson, and while the worried old lady tried to make her desist, Mary only nodded.

She crossed the threshold tentatively, taking in the chaos in the living room, and the faint light coming from a little bonfire in the kitchen. She could hear John's low tone, and someone else (Sherlock, of course!) breathing with difficulty.

She turned the corner, anxious to help Sherlock, when the consulting detective's voice stopped her. It was strangely deeper, but it sounded also worried, and extremely distressed. She remained still, and John approached her.

"Molly, it would be better if you just turn and go back to Mrs Hudson. Sherlock is not in condition to see anyone right now".

"John...If he relapsed, you have to tell me. He promised me, John...He promised us all, that he wouldn't...". Her voice trembled, and the first tear fell on her cheekbones.

"I didn't". Sherlock's voice boomed, and she opened her eyes, amazed by the sight. A majestic dragon, 8 feet tall, red and gold scales adorning his body, two long wings protruding from it and knocking the kitchen table down when he opened them.

"Sh-Sherlock? Is it you?". A hand shot to her mouth, stifling a surprised sob. His long tail reached out, and twirled on her waist, yanking her to him.

"Look at me, as I am now, and then burn every memory of the old me you have. Go away, and never return" he whispered, and his breath, smelling of sulphur, almost burn her skin. His eyes were different, so reptilian, yet they still had the same intensity of before. She raised a hand, and he recoiled at her touch. Molly persisted, and caressed the soft and warm scales, with calm and steady gestures, until she felt him relax.

"Oh Sherlock...do you really think I could feel disgusted by your form?". The dragon tightened unconsciously his grip on his pathologist.

"I can see you, always. I fell in love with your brain, and with your heart, and those didn't change, I'm sure. So, if this condition is going to be permanent, I have no problem with it".

He purred affectionately. "Surely the mating process is going to be interesting...".

John's embarrassed cough interrupted their moment."Sherlock, I reckon you are ready now to call your brother?".

"As long as I have my pathologist and my friends with me, I'm ready to do anything" was his firm answer.

**Thanks for reading. Leave a review, you will receive good influence and beautiful dreams.**


	15. Our armor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prompt from MorbidbyDefault: "Molly hasn't been sleeping for awhile, pushing herself past her physical limits. When Sherlock leaves his coat in the lab one day, he comes back to find his Molly sleeping, finally, her face burrowed into the Belstaff". Hope you like it, dear!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

It didn't happen often for him, to not have his coat on him. Of course, sometimes a coat finished burned, or ruined by a bullet, or soggy after an unexpected swim in the Serpentine...but not a coat had been left behind. It never happened, and never would...after all, how could a knight leave his armor behind?

Plus, Sherlock Holmes knew exactly where he had left it: sprawled on one of the bench in St. Barts lab, near his favourite microscope, abandoned there in the haste to follow a new clue for his last case (a promising 7 that revealed to be only a banal 3, a complete waste of his precious brain cells). He would probably find it hung to one of the hooks, as it had happened every time Molly Hooper was helping him with his experiments or researches.

Loyal, reliable Molly Hooper...lately, also tired Molly Hooper. After her failed engagement (with a grimace he tried to suppress the inner enjoyment he always felt at knowing that Meat dagger was now out of the picture) and the return of the Moriarty's threat, she had started to dedicate herself to her job, with a commitment that her colleagues learned to take advantage of. Sherlock had lost count of the graveyard shifts she had worked during the last month, but he never failed to observe the dark circles under her chestnut eyes, or how tiredly she had started to drag herself from the morgue to the lab. Mike Stamford had threatened to force her to take a vacation, but in vain; not even John and Lestrade succeeded into making her see how exhausted she looked.

Sherlock had remained silent every time: he knew Molly would have fair game to answer back to him, the man who was firmly convinced that body was only transportation, and who could stay four days with only a few hours of sleep every night. That didn't mean that he wasn't worried...in fact, he was ready to carry her on his shoulder to her flat, and there possibly drug her, only with the noble intention to let her sleep soundly for at least a few days.

So it didn't surprise him to see that the lights in the lab were still on, and with his long strides he reached the pathologist's office, ready to scold her and go caveman on her...and there, he found the small woman, asleep on her desk, her pale face burrowed into the thick fabric of his Belstaff, a faint smile adorning her mouth.

If his non-existent heart skipped a beat at the sight, it was only at the relief of seeing her so peacefully lost in the land of dreams...and not at all because of the inappropriate thoughts that crowded his mind at the vision of his pathologist resting so cozily on his coat. And if he remained silent, lost in his thoughts, looking at Molly sleeping, it was only to not disturb her, not because he was wondering how much he wanted to see her waking up every morning, next to him, in his bed.

**Thanks for reading. Leave a comment, you will receive good influence and beautiful dreams.**


	16. A secret place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon on Tumblr gave me this prompt: "Sherlolly mythological AU, with Centaur!Sherlock and Fairy!Molly".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

When he arrived at the pond, limping and with an open wound on his left cheekbone, the centaur found out that his secret place was not so secret anymore. Hidden by rushes, in the shade of a centenary willow, was a female figure, her long, light auburn hair concealing her face. A pale hand caressed lazily the water surface, the movement creating concentric circles; a sleeve of her green dress was already soggy, but she didn't seem to care about it.

Sherlock took a few tentative steps, torn between the irritation of having to share his hiding place with a stranger, and the curiosity. He moved forward stealthily, when his keen eyes noticed the hoof-shaped traces in the directions of the pond: they were smaller than his, similar to a goat's one. Everything became clear all of a sudden: the grey complexion, the emerald robe, hiding the lower part of her body: she was a Glaistig!

The young centaur started to draw back, when he trod on a twig, and let out a pained cry; the noise alerted the other creature, and she turned away from the pond to gaze upon him. They both looked anxiously at each other; only the sound of the leaves moved by the breeze disturbed the uncomfortable silence. Finally, the Glaistig smiled softly.

"Your wounds...do they hurt much?".

As she approached him, he moved back again, struggling to ignore the pain radiating from his sprained ankle.

"Please, don't move...there's no reason for you to be afraid". The creature spoke softly, and for a moment Sherlock contemplated to let her come closer: she looked harmless, and genuinely desirous of helping him. Then, he remembered the man in the village downstream, lured by other Glaistigs with songs and dances to their lair, where they would drink their blood; or the travellers thrown off course.

"I'm not afraid" he lied.

She seemed to read his mind, because she stopped her advance. "I'm not like my sisters...in fact, that's the reason I'm here. They disowned me because I refuse to cause any harm to the people of the village; I prefer to watch over the children while their mothers milk the cows, or to protect the cattle for their fathers". She hesitated, then took a cautious step towards him, and this time the centaur didn't move.

"There's a healing herb, here in the groundcover; I can do a compress for your ankle, and clean your gash, if you let me. You can trust me, I won't do you any harm". She offered him her hand. "My name is Molly...what's yours ?".

After a full minute, the centaur shook her hand. "Sherlock".

"I'm glad to know you, Sherlock...and now, let me help you". She guided him to an area where the grass was softer, and helped him to stretch out; then she sprinted to the pond and tore off two stripes of her dress. She dunked one in the pond, and then returned to clean his cut carefully.

"I need to leave you alone for a moment, to take the herbs...are you comfortable enough?".

The centaur nodded, overwhelmed by her selfless and caring manners; in his tribe, the healer was rude and brusque. True to her words, five minutes after she had disappeared in the wood, she returned, her arms full of branches and flowers. In silence she arranged them on the remaining stripe, and once again, with the uttermost care, she wrapped it around his hurt ankle.

"You have to rest for a while...don't worry, I will be on the lookout".

Sherlock didn't know why he felt so at ease with her, to consider even only following her suggestion; maybe he was wrong, maybe she was a witch and she had cast a spell on him. Anyway, he closed his eyes, for the first time in a long time finally serene and untroubled.

**Thanks for reading. Leave a comment, you will receive good influence and beautiful dreams.**


	17. See me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon gave me this prompt on Tumblr: "AU with fae!Sherlock and sidhe-seer!Molly (a sidhe seer are humans that can see fae beings if you were wondering)".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

Molly Hooper, 20 years old, from London, currently on holiday at her aunt's home in Gairloch, Scotland, couldn't get out of her head the sensation that someone was spying on her.

She had no proof, of course; but every time she strolled about the wood just behind her aunt's house, she couldn't help but feel that someone was following her. Her rational mind repeated that the strange noises she heard ( the rustling leaves just over her head, the snapping branches behind her back) were just the normal sound of a forest. Nevertheless, every time she raised her gaze to look at the trees over her, there were no birds perched on the branches, no squirrels running away; and when she had turned swiftly, to catch out her unknown stalker, she had felt an hair-raising swoosh caressing her nape.

Obviously the young woman could not confide her silly worries to her aunt and uncle, because Molly was sure they would just look at her sympathetically; and her cousin Archie was only a child: sharp and curious, yes, but still an eight years old boy, after all.

A boy with a dangerous habit to lose his way in the wood when it was dinner's time, listening to her aunt's complains. "Molly, be a dear and tell Archie to leave his exploration alone, please! The meatloaf is almost ready and if we don't eat in five minutes, it will dry too much and become disgusting...".

She knew where her cousin was: there was a forest path that led to a small clearing, with an enormous elm that cast its shadow over some blackberry bushes; her little cousin used to go there and return with purple stains all around his mouth, on his hands and sometimes even on his t-shirt.

After less than five minutes, as she had foreseen, she found Archie, asleep, his curly head resting on a mossy rock; and just above him, sitting on the lowest branch of the majestic elm, there was a strange creature. He was unarguably a male, but he didn't seem human. His hair curly and dark as a moonless night, covered barely his pointed ears; he was clothed in a bizarre waistcoat made of leaves and lichens, and short trousers of birch bark. His appearance looked rather dishevelled, but he wore a kind but mischievous smile, that reached his shifting eyes, framed by some sparkling white patterns. He was swinging his feet lazily (she saw other emblems on them, green this time), but his gaze was fixed on her cousin, and it looked like he was guarding his sleep.

He seemed unfazed by her presence; only when she took a cautious step forward he finally noticed her.

"Who are you?". Molly's voice quivered, and in spite of her panic she approached Archie, hoping that the creature would not harm him, and her, too. Much to her surprise, he simply stood up and murmured "You see me..." with a tone that was a mixture of awe and worry. Then she diverted her attention from him when she heard Archie starting to yawn, and in a trice he was already gone, only the rustling foliage indicating his escape to the peak of the tree.

"Stop, I won't-" Molly started, but he had vanished. "Have you seen him?" she asked her cousin, but his answer was a sleepy "Who?" and "My tummy hurts, Molly...Maybe I ate too much berries".

During their brief route to return home, she tried to spot the creature, in vain; for a few days she believed she had imagined him, or even worse, she had hallucinated. Until one evening, while she was reading in Archie's tree house, she heard a thud on the roof, and from the small window a curly head peeked out. His eyes were shining with ill-concealed enthusiasm when he announced "The name is Sherlock...would you like to go on an adventure?".

**Thanks for reading. Leave a comment, you will receive good influence and beautiful dreams.**


	18. Won't get fooled again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon on Tumblr gave me this prompt:"AU where Molly can see and speak to the death and sometimes tells them about Sherlock and how a great detective he is".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

"I hate him! I truly, deeply, completely hate him!". The morgue's door slammed, and a very furious pathologist appeared in the empty room. Well, it might looked empty to the average observer; someone skilled as Molly Hooper would spot right away the two gentlemen smoking in a corner, their feet propped over the slabs.

"Smoke is an unhealthy habit, you know...and it's forbidden in a hospital..."she let it drop, and the two merely shrugged.

"Who cares? Surely it can't kill us..." the first said. "After all, we are already dead!" the second one concluded, with a satisfied chuckle.

Oblivious to their jesting, Molly started to prepare her equipment, in the same methodic way she usually did, but both of the gentlemen could see how she was trembling with pent-up anger.

"So, what has he done this time?" Paul, the older one (still dressed as a bobby, his uniform stained by blood forty years old) asked.

"What has he not done, you might say! John found him in a dirty warehouse, dressed as an hopeless junkie...and guess what? The disguise was absolutely appropriate, because that's what he is...". Her voice cracked and Sean, the other one, approached her. He knew he could not comfort her with the hug she deserved, but he hoped the nearness would help.

"I- I slapped him. Thrice. He deserved it...but it's not making me feel better. Why? Why does he have to behave like this?". Her question remained unanswered, and she left the room hastily, to compose herself.

"He deserves a lot more than a few blows on his cheekbones...I don't know what I will give to have my night stick again...".

"And the corporeality to hold it again". Sean shook his head, the bowler hat still fixed on his head. "You know, that's why we didn't let our Molly give that git the files about our murders: he would solve them, and then who would take care of her? That Tom bloke was absolutely wrong for her, thank God she left him...".

"She will forgive him, won't she? Even after all the bad words, the insults, the sacrifices she made for him...". Paul's pondering stopped when Molly returned, ready to perform the autopsy on Mrs McMilock. The signs of tears were almost gone, only her sad eyes betraying her discomfort.

"Are you ok, Molly?". Sean's words made her smile. They were the only ones who can see her...really see her. Her best friends were two lost souls, trapped down in a cold morgue in London...how fitting, for a pathologist who could see and speak to the dead people.

"Of course I am...You know what, guys? That's the last time I've cried for Sherlock Holmes...He won't fool me again, I promise".

And when she turned to start the first incision on the body on the slab, she missed the two ghosts smiling one to the other, knowingly.

****Thanks for reading. Leave a comment, you will receive good influence and beautiful dreams.** **


	19. Tell me your name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon on Tumblr gave me this prompt: "Sherlolly with vampire!sherlock and werewolf!molly".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

She could only run. "Run, and you will be safe", had been his father's last advice, and she had always listened to her father. The thick foliage covered the reassuring light of the moon, and her sense of smell was thrown off balance by the fear. For the second time that night she saw the the brook on her left, the same huge rock in the center of the riverbed. Lost...she was lost. And alone...the last of her family.

She eyed the stream of water: it had a strong current, but maybe she could cross it...

"I wouldn't do it, if I were you...". A man's voice reached her ears; by instinct she bared her fangs, and changed her posture, trying to strike more fear than she was feeling at the moment.

"You're too tired, and too thin...you will drown in less than a minute". His tone was cold, sober, with an hint of amusement. She growled in return, circling the large oak where her keen sense of hearing had located the stranger. There, on one of the lowest branch, was sitting a young man. In the faint moonlight, she saw him snigger at her, showing his pointed canines.

"A vampire!". Her eyes widened at the revelation: she was too weak to fight a vampire, even a young one. She growled, cowering, and tried to find a way to escape. Even the prospect of drowning was more welcomed than the idea of dying by the fangs of a bloodsucker.

"I have no intention of attacking you...". His words arrived unexpected. She stopped, and he jumped down. "I have a friend...he's like you, a werewolf. You can hide behind that bush, and turn back to your human form, while I go and fetch him. John is a member of the North pack, and he can help you".

She contemplated his offer: it could be a trap. "If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it when you entered this forest. Now do as I said; you don't want another vampire to find you, do you?". His tone was arrogant, too smug for her liking, but she had no other choice. She found a large shrub on her right and proceeded to return to her human form. She removed the leaves from her long, chestnut hair, and from her hiding place she looked at the vampire leaping on the high tree top, ready to go.

"Wait! Tell me your name!". Her shy voice rang out in the silent forest. He simply looked down. "Why do you want to know?".

"So I may thank you...Mine is Molly, by the way".

She could only gaze at his back, but she could imagine him smirking when he said "The name is Sherlock. And you're welcome", before he dashed away, disappearing in the dark.

**Thanks for reading. Leave a review, you will receive good influence and beautiful dreams.**


	20. Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little drabble inspired by a piece of art by the wonderful Bassfanimation on Tumblr .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

The first time he saw her, she was a bit older than a child, but not a woman, yet. She was on the deck of a long ship, in her father's arms. She was not as beautiful as the female mermaids, with her bland brown hair, and upturned nose; but her eyes were wide-awake, bright, eager to know. Her keen gaze intrigued him, and she almost caught him looking at her, his toned upper body just over the surface of the sea. He disappeared just before he could hear her whisper to her father "Dad, I think I just saw a mermaid!".

Days passed, before he got a glimpse of her, again. She was picking up shells and little pebbles on the shore, her father a few steps behind her. He could see that his stride was tired, weary; the little girl didn't seem to notice, at first; then he distinguished the sadness in her eyes, and understood that she was faking her carefree attitude, just for his father's sake.

Winter came, then spring, and finally summer warmed the air and the sea, again; he met a brave sailor, John, who quickly became his best friend. The blond-haired young man had caught his longing stare to the young girl, wandering near the cliffs. "She's nice, you know...funny, in her own morbid way; sweet, kind...a bit of a loner, like you".

"And why are you singing her praises to me?". He had asked, only his curly head above the water.

"Because it's obvious that you like her, Sherlock".

"I- I don't!". The mermaid had spluttered his denial, feigning an offended frown. John laughed in his face, throwing a light piece of bark at him. "Yes, of course...so I reckon you're not interested into knowing her name, right?".

He was ready to dive back into the dark water, when his friend had shouted "Molly. Her name is Molly!", chuckling at his retreating tail fin.

* * *

The last time he saw her, she was on the deck of another ship...the one that was supposed to take her away from the island. John had told him about her father's death, that she had been left alone. A distant aunt had offered to harbour her, but she lived in another island, far away. He had followed the ship as long as he could, careful to remain hidden from her pensive look. Suddenly, the wind started to blow, scourging the water; dark clouds gathered, only the lightning flashing in the darkness.

He saw her fall down, her petite body colliding with the water. Her terrified scream sprinted him into action. He found her easily, but the huge waves slowed down his swimming considerably. Finally he reached the shore; mindful of his brother's admonishment ("Once you decide to leave the sea, you won't be coming back, Sherlock"), he laid her down on the foreshore, then trailed his fish-tail on the sand. Magically long legs appeared, in place of his tail; he used them to run to a fishermen's shack not far from them. The feeling of the sand under his feet was bizarre, but he didn't have time to wonder about it: he took two heavy blankets, carrying them back to where he had left Molly. He covered the girl, hugging her tightly.

"You're warm now. Please, wake up". He whispered his plea, removing the wet hair from her elfin face, caressing for the first time the soft time the soft skin he had often dreamed of. Her eyelashes fluttered against her cheekbones, and with a cough she finally opened her eyes, disoriented by the surroundings and by his presence, too.

"Breathe...don't worry, you're safe now...". Sherlock helped her to throw up the salty water, then welcomed Molly back in his tight embrace, carrying her to the shack. Exhausted, they fell asleep together, in each other's arms.

**Thanks for reading. Leave a comment, you will receive good influence and beautiful dreams.**

**P.s.: **[this piece of art](http://bassfanimation.tumblr.com/post/102024269116/youre-warm-now-please-wake-up-i-am-full-of) by the wonderful [Bassfanimation](http://bassfanimation.tumblr.com/) inspired this drabble.****


	21. Different abilities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

"Why are you so against this idea? I'm intelligent too,you know?". Molly trailed behind him, her shorter legs struggling to keep the pace of his longer stride.

"I know, Molly...You're surely really clever, but-".

"But what? You're so jealous of your ability,that you don't want anyone else to try to use it?".

"Molly". Sherlock stopped and she obviously didn't see it until she was just an inch away from his back. When he turned, she tried to mantain a firm and resolute expression, but his gaze was so unusually soft,almost tender, that her resolve crumbled. "Just tell me why...and don't you even try to feed me the theory that you can't teach your art of deduction, because I know for sure that you're mentoring Bill Wiggins, and he's at least three years younger than us!". She lowered her voice, and distanced herself from him.

Sherlock took a deep breath, and with that he got close to Molly. "My ability, as you call it, resides in my brain. The information, they invade my mind, and in a way, they make me a little...disabled. Because in order to use my mind at the best of its capability, I need to disconnect it from my...", he tapped just over his heart.

"I don't want for you to do the same, Molly. Like John, you have another kind of talent, one that you should treasure even more than mine: your empathy, your compassion, your kindness...these are your powers. And I would never forgive myself if you lost them, just to become more proficient in the ability of deduction".

He turned, then promptly return back to her. "That doesn't mean that you won't be more than welcome to be my assistant, from time to time...if you like the idea, of course" he rushed the last part of the sentence, and she was sure the ghost of a blush had appeared on his cheekbones.

She simply nodded, and mustered up all of her courage to raise on her tiptoes and brush her lips on his cheek. His whole face turned faintly red again, and he coughed a bit to cover his embarrassment.

"I have a new case...I need to keep an eye on a certain cat's owner, and I may need your assistance, this afternoon".

She beamed at him. "Of course...". She took a look at her wristwatch. "Oh my God, Mr. Turner will tell me off if I arrive late today, too!".

Molly sprinted away, running down the school's hall without turning back until she reached her classroom. Just before entering the room, she turned and looked at him. "See you later!" she mouthed, before disappearing in the Literature classroom.

Sherlock smiled at her retreating figure, and softly caressed the spot where her lips had touched his skin. Yes, Molly Hooper's greatest power was certainly her heart...and he wouldn't want to change it for anything in this world.

**Thanks for reading. Leave a comment, you will receive good influence and beautiful dreams.**


	22. Winnie-The-Pooh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.
> 
> Based on this headcanon that I've had for a long time: "For the birth of their first child, Sherlock gave Molly, as a present, a rare first edition of "Winnie-The-Pooh", signed by both A. A. Milne and E. H. Shepard. When Molly asked him why he had chosen that particular book, he told her that he wanted to read his child the story of someone who loved bees and honey even more than himself."

 

 

 

He was late. Of course, he was late. She couldn't believe his nerve, though. He had left her that morning with a kiss on her cheek, and the warning to call him "if anything interesting came up". And now she was in the middle of her labour, and the only one missing (no, he was "out of reach", that's how that obnoxious voice continued to define him every time John, Mary, his parents, tried to call him on his mobile) was the future father.

"I promise, I will kill him. I will give birth to my wonderful son, and then I will kill his father with my own hands!" Molly huffed, trying to catch her breath after a very painful contraction.

"Mycroft is going to find him, sweetheart, don't worry...", Violet Holmes reassured her, and sneaked a furtive look at Mycroft, who was on the phone in the hospital hall.

Suddenly they heard the sound of someone shouting "Let me go! My pathologist is going to give birth to my son, you morons!", and John left the room to help his best friend... Although he didn't deserve his help, as usual.

"Let him go, fellas... Believe it or not, he's the father..."

The two nurses let the consulting detective free, and Sherlock bent down to retrieve a parcel that had fallen from his Belstaff.

"You're a dead man, Sherlock. Molly is furious, and she has every right to be. May I ask where the hell you were, and why you weren't answering your bloody phone?".

"No, and the mobile is in the Thames now", Sherlock answered, before passing his brother to enter the room, and run to Molly's bedside.

"Now I'm a bit busy, but later I will dismember your body, like your son is doing now with mine, Mr. Holmes. Quick, tell me what was more important than be by my side during the most important moments of our life!" Molly spat out, before closing her hand over Sherlock's and squezing it with all her force.

"I had to recover something", he whispered, before taking the parcel with his free hand and handing it to his mother.

"Please, could you open it, Mummy?", he begged, and her mother quickly did it, revealing an old, battered book.

"Oh, William...", Violet Holmes whimpered, and everyone tried to take a look at the little volume.

"Is it...?" Syger inquired, and Mycroft answered swiftly "Of course it is, Daddy. Leave it to Sherlock to do something so stupid and sentimental...",

"Would someone tell me what the hell are you talking about ?" Molly shouted,and all the attention came back to her.

"This, my dear, it's the "Winnie-The-Pooh" book that I used to read to William when he was a little kid, too little to even entertain the idea to be a pirate. When we moved away from London we lost it during the removal..."

"And when you told me that we were expecting, I decided to retrieve it. It's one of the few pleasant memories I have of my childhood, and I thought..."

"That it would be the right book to read to our child... Oh, Sherlock!", Molly cried out, and tried to lift herself to give him a kiss, when another contraction came.

"Sentiment...", Mycroft scoffed, and Mary rewarded him with a kick on his shin.

"So, am I pardoned ?", Sherlock asked, when Molly was able to speak again.

"For now... Let's just say that you will be on diaper task for a long time, Mr. Holmes".

"Oh, I couldn't ask for a better punishment, Doctor Hooper"

**Thanks for reading. Leave a comment, you will receive good influence and beautiful dreams.**


	23. Bees and surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on another headcanon of mine, about Sherlolly and bees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

“So, from your astonished look right now, I can presume you didn’t open my present, that Christmas…”

She was right. He never opened that little package, wrapped up in red paper; it was still in the bottom drawer of his wardrobe, waiting for a time when he would feel worthy of receiving a present from Molly Hooper. He was still unaware that she had given him a copy of “Collin’s Beekeeper’s Bible”.

So that was the reason why he hadn’t predicted that his trustworthy pathologist, one of his closest friends, one of the few people who loved him in the world, could be at the same beekeeping seminar he was attending.

Taking advantage of his silence, she continued, “I thought it was just a happy coincidence, the fact that you are interested in bees, and I-”

“Have inherited a cottage in the country, with ten beehives… Of course, there’s always something that I miss… No, Molly, it was no coincidence, the universe is rarely so lazy. Was it your uncle’s? No, wait, not your uncle’s…”

“It was my aunt’s. She loved bees.”. Molly paused, and a smile appeared on her thin lips, while she pictured her old aunt Florence, wearing her beekeeper suit, surrounded by her little workers. “She used to say that “The bee is more honoured than other animals, not because she labours, but because she labours for others.” She called me her little bee, and so when she died, she left me her beehives. I had no time to take care of it in the past, but now the beekeeper I hired years ago is moving nearer to his old parents, and I decided that maybe, I don’t know…”

“You want to try to tend to your beehives on your own, don’t you?”, he asked, a sparkle in his eyes that she missed entirely, seen that her gaze was fixed on the floor, too embarrassed to face his inquisitive (and probably pitying) eyes.

“I have no experience, I know…”

“So it must be your lucky day, because I have had a lot of practice lately, and I’m sure I could teach a thing or two to an eager novice like you. So,where is this cottage of yours, Dr. Hooper?”

****Thanks for reading. Leave a comment, you will receive good influence and beautiful dreams.** **


	24. Honey and coconut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because honey makes Sherlolly even sweeter...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

Having Mary Watson as a friend was a good thing, Molly pondered. As an only child, with only an old aunt as the only other female in the family, she had missed deeply the presence of another woman to go and ask advice to. When she grew up, she had been so focused on her studies, and her career, that she avoided asking her female school friends and colleagues for advices about make-up, or fashion… Hence, her style had been often described as atrocious and juvenile.

Usually the pathologist didn't care about the other's opinions: after all, the dead had not once criticized her clothes, or her beauty treatments. But there was a thing about herself that Molly was extremely proud of: her hair. Yes, the colour might be a bit dull, but she liked it anyway; and she had always managed to keep them glossy, and healthy… Until now.

"I don't know what do with my hair any more, Mary. They're so dry, damaged, and full of split ends… I've tried everything: I bought new shampoo and conditioner, the most expensive and well-recommended; I stopped using my hair straightener, I even changed my diet. Nothing changed. They continue to fall out."

"Maybe it's just because of the changing of season…", Mary offered, but Molly shook her head vehemently.

"It's been more than six months… No, desperate times call for desperate measures. Tomorrow I'm going to my hairdresser and give a drastic cut!"

"I think a trim will suffice, Molly…", Mary suggested, but the petite pathologist seemed quite firm.

"After all, they're just hair, aren't they? They will grow back, stronger than before… Now I want to show you a pixie cut that I saw on a magazine the other day", she said before starting to rummage in her bag.

Unbeknown to them, the shadow of a long and billowing coat disappeared behind the canteen's door, after its owner listened carefully, but secretly, to their conversation.

* * *

The next morning, Molly found a strange container on her desk. It was a simple jar, full to the brim with an amber substance. Next to it, she noticed a piece of paper, folded up. She opened it, hoping to find a clue about the odd present. Her name was printed on one side, and on the other she found a list of instructions. "Hair mask. Work into damp hair as you would shampoo. Let sit for 10 minutes, and then rinse with warm water. Use once a week."

Molly opened the jar, and her nostrils were overwhelmed by the sweet scent of honey and coconut. She sighed happily, anticipating the moment when she could finally try it. She decided to send a text to Mary later, to thank her for her kind gift, and then started to work on her boring paperwork.

When she returned home, she almost jumped into the shower, eager to test the hair mask. She left a trail of clothes on her way to her bathroom, ignoring Toby's indignant meows, and opened the water, waiting for it to warm up.

She had just started to wash her hair, when the shower's curtain opened, and Sherlock Holmes joined her.

"I thought you were still in Cardiff, working on that ransom case for Mycroft…", the pathologist began, but the words died on her lips when his plump lips started to caress her nape.

"Nope… I returned yesterday, then I decided to pop up to St. Bart's, but then I remembered you were teaching a class and I didn't want to disturb you."

"You could have sent me a text to let me know that you were back", she argued, but the consulting detective's attention seemed focused on her skin, and his answer came out muffled.

"Would you care to repeat?"

"I said I returned home, did a quick experiment, and fell asleep, and when I woke up it was already this afternoon", he recounted, nipping at her left ear.

"Just say that you were afraid someone would catch us together…", Molly lamented, trying to free herself from his tight embrace.

Sherlock stopped his ministrations and made her turn, still keeping his arms around her. "No. Don't you ever think that I'm ashamed of you... Of us. The only reason we are keeping our relationship a secret is because I want to protect you. You know that I love you, don't you?"

She looked into his eyes, and saw the truth in them. "You could have sent me a text anyway…", she huffed, before turning to the shelf to take the hair mask's jar.

"You found my present, I see…".

"What are you talking about? Mary prepared this mask for me, after I told her that my hair were too thin and dry…"

Finally, Sherlock stopped to embrace her, to rub his nape. He actually looked sheepish.

"Hold on… You were at St. Bart's! You eavesdropped my conversation with Mary, and made this for me, didn't you?", Molly reasoned, and Sherlock nodded in agreement.

"You were talking about cutting your hair, and… Well, I love your hair. I don't want you to trim it, just because you couldn't find another way to strengthen it", Sherlock grumbled embarrassed.

"Oh, Sherlock… It's just hair. They will grow back very quickly, I assure you…", Molly tried to reassure him, but he didn't seem convinced.

"Just try my mask, I promise it will work. I'm a first-class chemist, don't forget that. Honey is a natural humectant, full of antioxidants that encourages hair growth; I combined it with a bit of coconut oil, to add a bit more shine… And because it smells so good on you!", Sherlock finished, resuming to brush his lips on her soft skin.

"And in case it didn't work… Well, there's always another countermeasure we could try."

"Really? What is it, another home-made remedy?", Molly asked, becoming interested.

"Molly… Do you know that during pregnancy, higher levels of oestrogen prolong the hair growth phase, resulting in less shedding of hair and thicker and shinier tresses?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Leave a review, you will receive good influence and beautiful dreams.


	25. Honey cupcakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a drawing by Sherlolly 29 on Tumblr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

Being pregnant with twins was not an easy walk in the park. Being pregnant with Sherlock Holmes' children turned the walk in the park in a crazy chase on London's rooftops. Today they seemed to be unstoppable, just like their father: they moved ceaselessly, and the pathologist needed to take many naps during the days, hoping to find some rest. "Maybe you're already missing him, just as much as I miss my consulting detective…", she yawned, her tired eyes already closing.

She didn't know how many hours she slept; when she woke up, her nostrils were titillated by the sweet scent of honey and cinnamon coming from the kitchen. There she found the world's only consulting detective, wearing a bee-printed apron, taking out of the oven a batch of freshly baked cupcakes.

"Sherlock… May I ask what are you doing here? John sent mea text saying that you were still with Lestrade at the Yard, three hours ago…"

The curly-haired man put down the pastries, and started to work on the frosting. "Yes we were. Then half an hour later, I solved the case (merely a 4, Molly, even you could have solved it as well), and Mary told John, who told me, that you were craving for those fairy cakes you had in Edinburgh many years ago. So I found the recipe and… Well, this just, sort of happened", he concluded, taking a spoon to taste the icing.

"Oh, Sherlock…". Molly tried to hold back the tears, but in vain.

"Why are crying? You're not supposed to cry… You're supposed to be happy", he reasoned, and Molly reassured him with a quick peck on his pouting lips.

"Just these bloody hormones… I'm fine, don't worry. It's just you never cease to amaze me! You're so clever, and bright, and you can bake, too"

"I'm a graduated chemist, Molly… Baking is essentially chemistry at its highest level. And now, that's enough talk: take a bite and tell me what you think!", the consulting detective prompted, offering his pathologist a cupcake full of icing on the top.

Her delighted moan was all he needed to hear… He waited politely for her to finish the pastry, before he scooped her up into his arms to bring his giggling wife back into their bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Leave a comment, you will receive good influence and beautiful dreams.


	26. All I want for Christmas is...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

“I’m positive I hate you.” Molly’s voice had a certain air of finality, and Sherlock reluctantly left his Mind Palace to focus his attention on his pathologist, slash sometimes-work-partner, slash significant other, slash… He decided it was not the right time to start making a list about Molly Hooper’s definition, and watched as she flashed him another nasty look, full of resentment.

“May I ask why do you think I deserve your hatred?” Another murderous glare suggested to him that he had to deduce the reason of her hostility. He had left no poisonous substances on the kitchen table, the mold was growing patiently in the climate controlled case Molly brought from St. Bart’s laboratory, he had not told her that she had gained another pound… Oh, now he knew.

“Is it because I refused to accompany you to-”

Molly turned to him, her chestnut eyes full of contempt. “You said, and I’m quoting you, “Whatever you want, Molly. You can have whatever you want from me this Christmas”. Then I ask you what I want, and obviously you go back on your words! But it’s my fault, really… I should have known that you were only lying!” Her voice raised, and unexpectedly Sherlock blushed at her accusation.

She was right, of course. Although she quoted him slightly incorrectly, her report was true. To his defence, he had expected she would ask for something a bit more… congenial to him. A mummified heart, or to adopt a beehive (he had already bookmarked the most suitable sites in the Midlands), even an antique piece of jewellery (just in case, he had his grandmother’s engagement ring hidden in the false bottom of his drawer). But no, she had to ask something completely unforeseen and unusual, as she was.

He stole a glance at her, and watched as slowly the hatred started to turn into sadness, and disappointment. He remembered another Christmas, years before, when he had hurt her with his careless words; he had vowed to himself that he would have not repeated the same mistake. He had neglected his unspoken promise only once, when she had discovered his return to drugs for the Magnussen’s case. “No more”, he had told himself, and yet…

“It will be almost impossible to find the invites...” His deep voice startled her. Molly turned, a semblance of hope appearing on her pale face. “We could just ask Mycroft…”, she proposed, and watched with fascination as Sherlock took her smartphone and started to write.

Thirty seconds later, a text arrived. “The British Government says that he had already booked two tickets, and offers to go with you, in case I still refuse to escort you...” The disturbed expression on the consulting detective’s long face was almost comical, but Molly had something more important to think about. She was going to the “The Force awakens” premiere with Sherlock Holmes, and she didn’t want to lose another minute!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, my dear Sherlollians... and May the Force be with you!


	27. Scruffy-looking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Art by Flavialikestodraw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat, Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. I just own my computer,my version of Openoffice, and my sick fantasies. English is not my native language, and this story is un-betaed, so please forgive the mistakes and the typos.

                                                                                                               

* * *

 

"You! Out of my lab, now!" Dr. Hooper's peremptory tone, combined with a rather unmistakable gesture, made the two students working at the microscopes scurry out of the lab without sparing a look to the other person in the room.

Not a bit offended by their uncaring attitude, Sherlock Holmes raised his eyes from his microscope and gave his pathologist a fleeting glance. She looked positively furious, and from the way her angry stare focused on him, even someone as dumb as Anderson could easily understand that he was the cause, and the subsequent subject, of her ire.

"You bumptious, moronic, scruffy-looking imbecile! You did it on purpose, didn't you?" She accused, unfastening the cotton scarf tied around her neck.

"A bit too hot for that, don't you think?". Sherlock smirked, and Molly shot him another glare. "No shit, Sherlock! And thank God I found this scarf in my office, albeit a little too late, because now half the members of the boards saw this on my neck!". She pointed to the love bite just under her right ear, and Sherlock couldn't help but admire it. It took him a very heated session of snogging on his sofa the previous night, to achieve the exact size he had in mind.

"And you know what is even worse? That I remember distinctly asking you this morning, while I was preparing to come here, if I was ok, because all the mirrors disappeared from your home, and even my pocket mirror went mysteriouslymissing, last night!" Molly paused, and took a deep breath.

Sherlock took advantage of that, and asked "You look fine, to me. Actually, you look rather ravishing…" He left his chair, and approached his pathologist, enclosing her in a loose embrace. He bent his head until his lips brushed the still tender hickey. "What I don't understand, is why you're so angry about a tiny…" He turned his head and pecked her left lobe. "Insignificant…" His unshaved chin touched lightly the soft skin on the corner of her lips. "Love bite?", he concluded, before swallowing her impeding moan with a quick kiss.

When they both regain their breath, Molly took his face in her hands. "Sherlock, tell me the truth. Why are you not shaving? And please don't tell me because you don't have mirrors at Baker Street, because I don't need to be a consulting detective to know that you didn't break them, but only hid them somewhere."

The consulting detective gave her another lingering kiss, before answering "I just thought… That I wanted everyone to know that you're taken, that we're together. Would it be so bad if everyone knew that you're my pathologist, and I'm your consulting detective?"

"Oh, so you're really an idiot!" she chuckled back. "And you thought that the best way to announce that we're in love would be to leave hickeys on my neck, like a horny teenager? Besides, it's not like you left your signature on my skin."

"Dr. Hooper, I sense a challenge… Let me show you what my mouth can write on your skin…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Leave a review, you will receive good influence and beautiful dreams.


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